Let Me Go
by Moment For Life
Summary: After years of searching, he finds her.


_Christmas Eve, 1927_

Fifteen years of turbulent searching had finally led him here—a picturesque two-story house in the middle of a quiet neighbourhood on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids. As was typical of Midwestern winters, the snow gently cascaded down in a quiet rhythm, landing layer upon layer, forming a white blanket across the landscape. Through the night, soft candles and electric light illuminated windows and street corners. And if you listened quietly enough, soft murmurs of a carol or two could be heard through the houses.

Jack neither heard nor saw any of it, his mind only focused on its present objective. It was cold, but his body no longer responded to cold in the same manner as a normal person; his simple hunter green jacket kept his body warm enough. It was all he needed at this moment in time.

His footsteps crunching rather loudly as they sunk into the snow, he crept toward the house before him. It was white, its shutters and door painted a deep blood red, and on either side of the door were two large windows, each aglow with pale light. Crouching down, with trembling hands he grasped the outer sill and slowly peered in. It was a simple parlour—a few chairs and a couch, and what looked like a rug. It was homely.

Sighing, Jack lowered himself once again and secretly crossed the steps to the other window. This time, as he gazed in, his eyes found what they were searching—and perhaps dreading—for. In the middle of the room sat a long table, a cloth runner stretched down the middle, candles upon it in just the right places. Though no food graced the top yet, two children sat anxiously across from one another, excitedly talking soundlessly with one another. The oldest, a girl of perhaps four, maybe five, sat with her face toward Jack. Her dark eyes shone excitedly as she broke out into a giggle at her brother, who sat across from her. His hair matched his sister's—a mess of soft red curls. He was perhaps three or four, a year younger than his sister.

Jack's eyes burned at the scene before him, his body torn between running away or barging in on the picture. The girl and boy were too real, too much of a reminder that stung his heart. There was still another test, the final trail that would prove once and for all if his years of searching had been in vain or worthwhile.

In apprehension he waited, his breath coming in quick visible puffs. His heart beat beneath his breast as he watched. The little girl kept giggling, shutting her eyes closed and throwing her head back. For a moment, it looked as if she might fall out of her seat, but she jerked herself up and dissolved into more giggles. She was beautiful, lively and he could fainting hear the lovely laugh which escaped her.

Then, from inside the house, a faint shout of a woman broke the silence. Jack's senses responded, each answering in different ways. His eyes widened, his ears listened, and the cold windowsill began to disappear beneath his fingers as his mouth went dry and his nostrils lost all sense of their purpose.

And then she was there. In one time-stopping moment, she appeared in the doorway of the dining room, an apron around her waist, a soft smile gracing her lips. Jack's breath caught in his lungs as he stared at her. It was like watching a painful dream; he could hardly believe what his own eyes were telling him.

Rose. His Rose. He couldn't believe his own eyes. Fifteen years had not faded her radiant beauty; her hair, though significantly shorter, was still a brilliant red, her skin still a milky white. Her figure remained unchanged, and if anything, she had become a tad thinner. She did his painful memories justice, reminding him of the woman he had known and loved.

For fifteen years he had struggled with the memories and with what might have been as he had searched endlessly for her, unable to give her up for dead. His first big break had come in the war, when during his time overseas he had thought he had caught a glimpse of her amongst the nurses. When he had asked around, he had found out that there was in fact a Rose Dawson listed. Hopes high, he had searched throughout the war, into the years beyond, never once locating the woman that might possibly be her. Then, during the early twenties, he had been at a picture show. The woman on screen looked like Rose with a blonde wig and a funny costume. It had fuelled his drive to continue searching, especially when the credits read Rose Dawson, and his long search of phone calls, letters, name changes, and address after address had finally led him here.

Jack felt has if his heart would beat out of his chest as he watched her come closer, into the dining room, and say something to the girl. They both laughed then, a sight that stung Jack's heart deeper. Then, as they calmed down, Rose tenderly ran a soft hand over the girl's head. Clearly, they were mother and daughter.

Mind tumbling over what that meant, Jack remembered what he had forgotten. Rose Calvert. She was no longer Rose Dawson. And then, his fears being affirmed, a man slighter tall than himself with dark hair appeared in the doorframe. He crossed the few steps to Rose and then kissed her gently on the top of the head.

Jack felt his heart stop. Though Rose pushed the man away with a soft swat, Jack caught all he needed to see in that moment. On her left hand were two rings, one with a diamond, the other a simple gold band.

Tears filled his blue eyes as his dreams were shattered with those two pieces of jewellery. For years, he had held the scene before him fresh in his mind. However, in his fantasy, he had stood where the dark-haired man stood now. He had been the family man. The family which were his own. His children. His wife. His love. This could not be happening.

But it was. Jack watched painfully as the man left, and then a minute later, Rose followed suit. He almost called out for her, but managed to restrain himself by biting his lip hard. Slowly, he rose a little more, trying to get a look into the room they had disappeared into. His actions proved to be asinine, though, because just then the little girl looked right at him. Jack quickly sunk lower, but not before he heard a loud "Mommy!" sound throughout the house. Unable to be kept in the dark, he cautiously peeked up again, hoping the girl had run into the next room. However, Rose had come to her. Jack was unable to tear himself away, even as the girl pointed and Rose looked closer. It was only when she started to take a few steps toward the window that Jack realised what was going on, ducked down, and pressed his back against the wall. His breathing once again became shallow, and his pulse felt weak. He almost wanted to stop breathing not just from the situation but because he didn't wish to be seen, not so vulnerable.

And it was only when he heard the receding footsteps of shoes against wood that he strayed from his position.

Daring a glance again, head raising just enough to look in, Jack saw that the little girl and her brother were gone. However, now Rose and her husband—the word stung Jack's mind—stood in a gentle embrace. He was saying something to her and appeared to be soothing her by the way he was brushing his hand against her hair. It would have been sweet…

…if Jack didn't have the sudden urge to run in and tear them apart. For years, the only picture he had had of Rose in someone's arms had been in his own. And now, he had to watch this like some bizarre form of torture. For although he was here by his own free will, he could not find the strength to tear himself away from her. She was so beautiful, so enchanting. And even the sight of her in another man's arms made him long for her.

Night after night he had been consumed by dreams of her, the memory of that one fiery quick moment in the back of the car acting as a prelude to any sleepy thoughts. In his dreams, their meeting had always continued, had always become a foggy haze in a place where he couldn't quite remember, yet couldn't forget in the least. It reminded him of what he had felt that freezing cold night. He had never touched a woman like he had Rose; he had only allowed himself the pleasures they'd shared with her. At the moment, he would have given anything to feel that flesh-to-flesh intimate connection with her again, now she shared that same passion with another man. Her husband.

After what seemed like an eternity, the couple broke apart, and the man retired back through the doorframe, bellowing out in a loud voice. Rose was alone now. A shadow of something crossed her face—Jack stared until he found out what it was. It was sadness, perhaps mixed with regret, and an abundance of longing. He felt as if he was staring at his own face.

Then, as if in slow motion, Rose left, exiting through a different door than her husband. Speculating on where she might be headed, Jack lowered himself slowly down and then crawled back, hiding behind a nearby bush. He was right; with a creak of the door and a flood of light, Rose stepped out onto the porch.

"Is someone there?"

Her voice penetrated the night and took Jack to a place he had forgotten. Once again, he was with her, on that ship, where they had experienced heaven on earth. His let his mind start to drift; this seemed so unreal, too much like a dream. He was certain that he would wake moments from now, back in New York, shivering in his tiny apartment. But the loud slam of the door closing as Rose pulled it shut brought him back, told him that this was in fact reality.

She stood on the porch with her arms around her body, the chill sending goose bumps and shivers visibly down her body. Jack desperately wanted to run over, to hold her in his arms once more, warm her up, for he never wanted to see her cold again. But he couldn't. Something was holding him back.

"Is anyone out here?"

Jack remained silent, his beating heart the only sound other than Rose's voice, which fell silent and remained so until at last, she whispered softly into the night.

"Jack, if this is your doing, stop it."

He froze, every part of his body pausing, honing on what she was saying. Could she see him? Did she know he was out here?

"Go away, Jack. Please. Stop haunting me this way."

Rose's voice cracked on the last sentence, and her words wavered. Jack felt his eyes become moist again as new tears formed. He wanted to make her feel better. He wanted to fix it, like he had before.

"I just want to forget you…why can't I do that?"

She was crying now, her voice heavy with emotion, haltered, the way any woman sounds when she is upset.

"Please, Jack, just let me let go. I'm so tired of every day being a struggle. I just want to be able to let you go."

It was becoming clearer to Jack that she hadn't seen him. He was still, in a matter of speaking, dead to her. And yet, she was talking as if he she knew he was here. Had she been suffering through the same things he had all these years? Did she lie awake at night, praying to indifferent gods to be released from the torment of knowing that there was something better out there?

"Go away, Jack…please. Let me go live the way I promised to, my love.''

He ached to run to her, but just as he put one-foot forward...

"Mommy?"

A new voice broke though the silence, and Jack realised that he had not even noticed the door open. Rose, by the way she responded, must have not either. She quickly wiped her tears away and turned. The little girl stood in the doorframe, a quiet expression on her face.

"Emily!"

"What are you doing out here, Mommy?"

"Just…making sure no one was out here."

Jack watched the exchange between mother and daughter with heightened curiosity. Another twist of fate, different cards laid on the table, and this girl could have been his. His daughter.

"I saw a man…I did!"

"Well, no one is here now, sweetheart. Shall we go see if Daddy has the turkey ready?"

''I did, I saw somebody.'' She protested harder. ''I did!''

''No, darling. No one is out here.''

''A man!'' She cried. ''A kind man.''

Rose shook her head. ''No more silliness, all right? Now back inside before I tell your father.''

Emily nodded, curls shaking around her head. Rose took a few steps towards her daughter, grasped the little girl's hand, and then bent down closely toward her. "We must be on our best behaviour tonight and go to bed early…do you know why?"

"Santa Claus!"

"That's right," Rose said, laughing a little. The sound filled Jack's ears richly; he had missed her laughter so much that it hurt. She was a mother and those few moments with her little girl showed him just how much of a brilliant one she was.

And with a few more steps they disappeared into the house, the door closing quietly behind them. Jack was once again left alone in the silence of the night. Unable to resist, he crawled back to his original spot and watched as the family gathered around the table. The man brought in a huge turkey on a silver platter, set it down in the middle of the table, and then Rose brought in more food in bowls. They all sat, and then, to his surprise, grasped hands in prayer.

Jack watched for a little longer, a new feeling coming over him. He had planned to come down here, see if his suspicions were correct, and if they were, sweep Rose off her feet, carry her away, and they would live happily ever after. But after seeing her with her family, and after hearing her pleas, he wasn't sure that that would be the right thing. In his heart, he wanted, more than anything, for her to be happy. And if she wanted him to go…

Jack slowly backed away, tripping slightly over his feet as he did so. When was a good distance from the house, he rose to his full height, staring once more at the scene before him—a family eating a Christmas Eve dinner together, with Rose sitting at the head of the table, a content smile on her face.

Content. That was what they would both have to be. She had done what he had asked; she had kept her promise that she had made that starry night. The least he could give her was release, and spare her from any more confusion. He was dead to her and so that way it would remain.

That passionate, all-consuming love had died with the Titanic.

Silently, Jack said a little prayer to whoever was out there to please help Rose let go. He knew that it would be important in his own acceptance of what was…and of what couldn't be.

Hands in his pockets and body hunched, Jack started down the sidewalk, disappearing into the black of the night.

It would be another sixty-nine years before he saw her again. At least outside of his dreams…


End file.
